Page 83 of Fatality

I stare at the wall for a few more seconds before slowly letting out a breath.

Okay.

I'm definitely going crazy.

I take off, the last few steps disappear beneath my feet as I sprint toward my bed and literally dive under the covers.

I pull the blanket over my entire body, wrapping myself up like a child terrified of the monster under the bed, convinced a few layers of fabric can somehow protect them from anything.

It's ridiculous.

I know it's ridiculous and yet I don't move.

I stay curled beneath the covers, listening to my heartbeat pounding in my ears and trying very hard not to think about footsteps outside my bedroom wall on the sixth fucking floor.

For a few awful minutes that feel like hours, nothing else happens.

Nothing moves. No one knocks.

No more footsteps echo through the wall.

Am I being haunted by some fucking ghost that enjoys scaring the shit out of me?

I thought I wasn't easily scared, but hearing footsteps coming from inside a wall is a completely different story.

That's fucking terrifying.

I grunt and gather what little courage I have left.

Slowly, I poke my head out from beneath the covers, let out a shaky breath, and look around.

Nothing.

There are no shadows, no ghost waiting to drag me into the afterlife.

I sit up and run a hand through my hair.

My fingers drift to my rings, and I start fidgeting with them.

I should probably take them off before going back to sleep.

But right now, the cool metal against my skin is strangely reassuring.

So I keep turning them around my fingers, clinging to that small, familiar comfort while my heartbeat slowly settles.

“I'm being ridiculous.” I scoff at myself.

I throw the covers back and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

“No one can actually be outside my wall in the middle of the fucking void like some flying magician.” I murmur to myself.

The words sound much more reasonable when I say them out loud.

The knot is still there. If anything, it's even stronger now but I shake it off.

I refuse to be scared by some ghostly fucker who thinks he can get to me.

Instinctively, I raise my fists. Then I pause, staring at them.